“Whatever brings you here, Margaret?” asked Mr. Cory, in considerable surprise.
“Come here and you shall know,” she answered. “You can do nothing more here, and I have much to tell you. Annie is not coming out to-night. She is all right. Now listen.”
And as the trio walked homewards, Miss Cory gave them the following particulars:
“You had not been gone many minutes,” she said, “when a letter from Annie arrived, saying that she would come home to-morrow, as her work would then, she thought, be quite done. She also said that Mrs. Stavanger had received a telegraphic message during the morning. It was addressed to her husband, but she had opened it, as was her usual custom with messages which came to the house. It simply said ‘Can’t come. Bring H. S. at 8.30 to Millwall Dock. Sail to-morrow.’ Annie understood the message, which Mrs. Stavanger indiscreetly read aloud. To the mistress of the house it was not so intelligible. But she comprehended that it might be important, and sent the boy who does odd jobs about the house during the day to the shop with it. It seems to me that it would take a very clever individual to throw dust into Annie’s eyes. ‘I am not sure,’ she writes, ‘that it is safe to neglect watching the house, and yet Hilton at least should try to keep Hugh Stavanger in sight. What we want to prove is that he has the diamonds. It is no use, as we know, to attempt to have him arrested until we have proof in our possession that will convict him. Of course we know that he is guilty, and certain other people know it also. But we may not be able to induce them to give evidence on our side. Mr. Lyon has the honour of the firm to support. Mr. Stavanger’s family credit and prosperity would be entirely ruined by the proof of his son’s guilt. Wear will stick to the Stavangers if they make a sufficiently high bid for her silence. We must therefore place our reliance on the diamonds, which Hugh Stavanger must have hidden somewhere or other. They will be our salvation if we can show that they have been seen in the scoundrel’s possession. I am afraid it is a dangerous thing to do, but there seems to be nothing for it but to follow the man to sea. If he does not come home before eight o’clock, it is hardly likely that the stolen property is here. If he does come home it might almost be safe to arrest him on the chance of finding the things on him. But I dread ruining all by premature action, so implore you to be cautious. Let father watch here with a detective if he likes, but let Hilton go at once to Millwall Dock and keep a sharp look out there. He might perhaps discover the name of the ship Captain Cochrane is commanding, and get a passage in her. If he cannot go as a passenger, he can try, after changing his disguise, to go as cook or steward. Of course he does not know the work, but that is a detail that cannot be taken into consideration when such great issues are at stake.’
“Now what do you think of that?” said Miss Cory, folding up the letter, which she had stopped to read by the light of a street lamp.
“I think Annie is a wonderful girl. She seems to think of everything,” was Hilton’s reply, given in a tone of great disappointment. “But her excellent advice comes too late. Our bird has flown, and it will be almost impossible to discover him to-morrow, since he is sure to keep dark, and we do not even know the name of the ship to which he has been taken.”
“Yes, men generally have an idea that women are of no use,” Miss Cory said, and her voice had such a triumphant inflection in it that her hearers at once found themselves heartened again. “But in this case they may thank their stars that they have got women to help them.”
“We shall only be too glad to thank our stars—the women themselves,” quoth Hilton. Whereupon Miss Cory rejoined: “Very prettily said, Mr. Riddell, but you don’t know yet what you have to thank me for. I know where young Stavanger is to be found this minute.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really and truly.”